Shaggy Dog Story
by Kandragon
Summary: "By some ill fate," said Legolas, "we had become dogs." In which the Three Hunters experience an unforeseen encounter with one of the Blue Wizards, leading to a crazy quest to regain their true forms. One that Legolas, at least, wished he could've forgotten.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a story that probably took too long to write, but is, at long last, written…(completely, though some of the latter parts are still being edited). As the old saying goes, it is a tale that grew in the telling, so, this one-shot is now a short multi-chapter fic.

Also, thanks LadyLindariel for giving me this idea, and allowing me to write a story based on it; this fic would not exist without her.

000

Two weeks in Gondor, and neither hobbit had seen their much of their old companions. Strider had been busy with taking care of the kingdom. Elf and dwarf, by all reports, however, were due to arrive any day from the Southern lands, and Merry was most frantic waiting for them to come. Pippin…wasn't himself. Ever since Crystal had past, he hadn't been. But, despite that he had _urged_ Pippen to come, the former Thain of the Shire had refused any attempts to recuperate.

Peregrin Took wasn't supposed to be so glum, not for long, anyways. Yet, there he was, sitting glumly by the fire in the guest house that had long been used by the remaining members of the Fellowship of the Ring. It wasn't right, and it shouldn't have been, but Pippin had been morose all the way from the Shire too, even when they visited Theoden in Rohan one last time. So as soon as they arrived, he had sent a letter by falcon to his long departed friends, begging them to come to Minas Tirith with all haste.

 _Perhaps it's the elf,_ he thought, tapping the armrest of the sofa, _he doesn't understand that haste shouldn't take weeks—_

Someone slammed opened the door. Only three people would do that, and one of them was in a conference with a man in a very purple vestment.

As quick as aching limbs and old age would allow, Merry stood, scurrying to the door where elf and dwarf stood, dripping wet with rain water.

"Thank heavens, you're here!" he said, exchanging pleasantries quickly. Then he turned to his cousin. "Hey, Pip?"

Despite his words, his cousin did not hear him. Pippin continued to read, engrossed by the tome on his lap, hairy feet on the footstool in front of the roaring fire.

" _Pippin!_ " Merry shouted, smiling a little as his aged cousin glanced up from his book, then blinked and removed his reading lenses, finally noticing that their guests had arrived.

"I was starting to believe that neither you nor Gimli would come before we kicked the bucket," he said, standing up so quick that both the book on his lap and the china on the table toppled onto the floor.

In his charge towards his friends, Pippin did not show one morsel of the age which had laced into his bones in recent years. Before either could reply, he embraced the elf then the dwarf, grinning from ear to ear.

"You haven't changed a bit!" Pippin proclaimed.

Merry shook his head in amusement.

"Nay, lad, he has a few grey hairs amongst those golden locks nowadays," said Gimli, taking Pippin's hand and giving it a firm shake. "I plucked one out at his request."

"As certain as your widened girth," Legolas replied, frowning at the dwarf's taunt. "Do not check, Master Took."

"I am not so naive nor so young that I would even think that elves go grey…," he stopped when he noted the slight curve of Legolas' lips. Pippin rolled his eyes. "Why are you—no, why are _we—_ so wet?"

"If you were less interested in that old logbook, which, if I recall, you were supposed to leave for your sons to deal with." Pippin sniffed at Merry's words. It still amused a part of him that his once-irresponsible cousin now took work so responsibly; even when they were supposed to be _retired_ and _relaxing_ in Gondor. Merry shook his head. "You might have noticed it is raining like the heavens wish to flood all of Minas Tirith."

"A little rain never hurt anyone."

"Pip," Merry grabbed his cousin's sleeve, pointing outside, "look."

Pippin finally did, then shook his head. "Ah."

"Speaking of which," said Legolas, glancing out the _open_ window as the rain continued to pour into the great room. A puddle had begun to form beneath the vases on the shelf underneath the window; the flowers inside each vase starting to droop. Legolas continued to speak, staring at the poor plants in pity, "neither of us have had a bite to eat nor a chance to rid ourselves of our wet garments before Aragorn ushered us out of the palace, urging us on to see our friends, two hobbits he described as subdued and downcast in spirit."

He said that last bit as if it was the most outrageous thing he had ever heard. "'Sulking hobbits'," Legolas added.

"You didn't get my letter?"

"A letter?" the elf asked, shaking his head, "I'm afraid not."

"Aye, though Aragorn told us it was chiefly Pippin," the dwarf said, causing the hobbit in question to meet his concerned gaze, "what is it that ails you, lad?"

"Nothing now," he answered, placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, "I only missed my old friends. Is it my fault that you never bother to visit the shire anymore?"

The dwarf sighed. "Forgive us, we've been occupied as of late. Aragorn oft required our aid in the south these last several years."

Legolas arched an eyebrow at Merry as Gimli told his cousin a little about their ongoing struggles to forge better trade agreements with some of the Southern tribes, indicating that he had caught his cousin's fib. The elf always caught them, even now, despite that Pippin had become so much better at lying. Having children and becoming leaders often changed people, even honest hobbits like Pip.

"Well, that _is_ a fine excuse, I suppose," said Pippin, "but lost time can be made up with good food and tales of your exploits, methinks."

Both elf and dwarf smiled, distracted for the moment. Pippin picked up the bell and summoned the servant, ordering plates of sweetmeats, pastries, and cheeses as well as wine and mead be brought to their setting room inside the guesthouse always used by the former members of the Fellowship of the Ring whenever they came to the White City. The elf and dwarf hung up their still-wet cloaks to dry, and took off their boots, placing them on the warmed bricks in front of the fireplace. Each took a seat. The dwarf sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, the elf on the sofa, feet on the far armrest.

"Are you going to move those?" Merry asked.

The smile he sent him was rather sly. "There are other places to sit."

None of which had cushions. Old hobbits deserved cushioned seats. Stubborn, old elves who'd just got back from the southern parts might not care to listen to that argument, however. He would just have to try a different tactic.

"They're on the other side of the room."

"And movable."

"Unless you or Gimli wish to pick one up and bring it hither," he said. "I'm not that fit, those things are rather heavy."

They all knew that wasn't true, or rather, that he would have no problem lifting a five pound chair. The elf cocked an eyebrow, but also moved his legs back enough so that Merry could set on the edge of the cushion. Typical Legolas, Frodo made him out to be far less flippant and facetious in the Red Book, but he also hadn't known the elf as well as they did. Although, Frodo had a tendency towards romanticism, especially when it came to elves.

"You're a _royal_ pain in the _ass_ , sometimes, you know," said Merry, trying to get comfortable. At least Legolas had let him sit by the fire. _Wait a moment_ …that meant the elf wouldn't have to tend it, either.

"Former prince," Gimli chimed in, "elves are odd about particulars."

"That is only a Noldorin custom," he remarked, sitting up straighter and finally pulling his feet completely off of Merry's cushion. "Neither Silvan nor Sindar follow those rules in Ithilien or Eryn Lasgalan."

"See, hobbits, particulars." But then, the dwarf grinned, wildly, causing the elf to frown.

"Which reminds me of a story," the dwarf said. Pippin piped up, somethings do not change with time or age. "Wasn't that why that part of the reason that blue wizard—"

"Gimli."

"—turned you into a pup?"

"Legolas was a pup," Merry deadpanned.

The elf hung his head in shame, face hidden by his long hands. Pippin's eyes widened. "This…you're saying he's not telling us some farfetched fib?"

"Unfortunately, no," came the unexpected reply. Merry beamed at Pippin who flashed a similar grin back in reply. The elf sighed, proud shoulders falling a smidgen. "Need we bring such dark tales into the light of day, friend Gimli?"

"Ye only hate it because you were _short_."

Another sigh echoed the first.

"How short?" Pippin asked, leaning forward with his head in his hands. Merry's stomach growled. Those foodstuffs were taking an awfully long time to arrive.

"Teapot-sized," answered the dwarf. The hobbits laughed. "As I recall, the wizard said—"

Legolas raised a hand, stopping the dwarf mid-sentence. "Let us begin at the beginning, or close enough, as we still do not know how or why we came to wake up in such a sorry state in the middle of the desert."

Hobbits and dwarf all watched the elven prince, waiting for him to continue.

"Only that by some ill fate," said Legolas, "we had become dogs."


	2. Chapter 2

Oh, it's late, sorry about that. I've had insomnia and a head cold, anyways, here it is. Also, this is about twenty years (I believe) in the past from last chapter.

Chapter 2

Legolas awoke, resting on his stomach, his nose much too close to the ground for comfort. Laying there on the hot, desert sand, he sniffed in its strong, earthen scent. Breathing in the sand by accident, it made the sensitive skin of his nose itch, he sniffled, sneezed. That came out as a decidedly unmasculine squeak.

 _Ah yes, I must be an elfling again_ , he thought.

Nearby, the sound of a giant, snoring beast nearly overwhelmed his extra-sensitive ears. Why did that cactus appear so large? It loomed over him...and well, everything _loomed_ over him. The rocks, the dunes, the other cacti; everything looked like it had grown to ten-times its size overnight.

 _This is impossible._ Dizzy, bewilderment overcame his senses; his head spun and he crumpled on to the ground in a heap of fuzz and fur, knocking sand into the air.

 _Fuzz and what?_

Legolas blinked twice. Why...why was he so close to the ground? Why was he so small? Was this how the dwarf felt? Was it some strange dream? How had he gotten _here_ , exactly? Legolas could not recall, only that he, Gimli, and Aragorn were on some diplomatic mission to the Haradrim and it was not going well. But this… _something_ did not feel right.

He felt different somehow. Furry. Small. Smaller, in fact, than a hobbit…or even a large _hare_.

Legolas lifted a hand to pinch himself...and saw a furry paw instead. He lifted the other. That 'hand' was also covered in fur. Turning his head back, he found that he...was a very small and golden-furred animal with his tail hidden by his long, light blond fur. It took him a moment more to put two-and-two together.

 _I am a dog_. That did not make sense! How could this be? His tail fled between his legs. _A miniature dog_.

"Aye!" Another dog barked, standing tall on his much longer legs than Legolas' own tubby limbs. He had short, white fur with brown spots covering his entire, muscular body, his triangular ears ending in delicate points, while his muzzle and face were somewhat flat. His two, dark eyes were round, far apart, and shimmering with delight. "Well, lad, this wasn't what I was expecting."

"Gimli?"

"Legolas!" The dwarven-dog let out a series of barks that were definitely akin to laughter. The little elven-dog growled, ears slanted back. "You're short, elf."

Head down, doggy sigh. Was that _all_ the dwarf could think about? At least that explained his amusement.

Gimli's bared his teeth, _of course the dwarf would enjoy this foolery. He's finally taller than I._

And knowing Gimli, he would not hear the end of it. Ever.

In most other situations, he would have snarked back, picked on the dwarf's still-stout body, perhaps, but at the moment…Legolas had other concerns. Aragorn wasn't here. With his keen eyes, he studied the barren terrain, he could, however, not see that far, and from the looks of things, they had landed in a small, sandy depression between the sandy dunes.

Even if Gimli could see Aragorn from here, Legolas could not. However, if he could still hear him snoring, obnoxiously somewhere off in the distance.

 _Considering that I am as large as a hobbit's teapot,_ the thought beguiled him, he looked down at his long fur and tubby legs in disgust, _that isn't a surprise._

Why couldn't this odd spell have given him the body of a graceful, tall hound? Did the person who did this to them have a bone to pick with elves?

He huffed, or tried, it sounded more like a high-pitched squeak. "Where's Aragorn?"

Gimli laid down on his belly, and gave him an expectant…gleeful glance. The husky dog bared his back-teeth in a not-quite-sane, feral grin.

"I will _not_."

"Lad, at your size, it will take us all day to reach him," said Gimli.

"At my size?" He lifted his small chin in a mockery of his former hauteur. "My. _Size_."

"Are you so bitter that you are finally gorgeous enough that a fair she-elf might give you more than a passing glance?" Even laying down, the dwarven dog did not have to look up at him. It made him feel so small. So…tiny.

 _Smaller than the dwarf!_ It filled his tiny chest with rage, hot as the desert sun. Laying on the ground, Gimli opened his mouth, large, red tongue hanging out, its tip touching the sand.

"Do you so worry that none would find your form cute that you must mock mine?"

He pranced up to Gimli…and despite himself, climbed onto the dwarven dog's back. Gimli trotted up the sand dune, Legolas hanging onto his back for dear life. The dwarven dog started to slow down once they came to a small oais. Here, a prickly tree stood in front of a small, brown pool, swaying in the breeze.

Beneath the tree yellow desert grasses grew, and within the grasses laid yet another dog. Large and muscular, with shaggy black fur on top, and shaggy tan fur on bottom, there was a certain scrubby regality to this beast. His black, fuzzy tale wrapped around his sleeping form, his mouth hanging slightly open, slobber falling on both chin and mane.

And like always, Aragorn snored. Loudly.

 _Some things are not met to change._

Legolas sprung off Gimli's back before the dwarven dog had even come to a full stop, hitting the sand with a painful thud. The hot grains burned his soft underbelly even as he skirted across the desert sand, reaching the regal dog in record time for a miniature teapot.

"Do not tell Arwen," he said, looking back at Gimli. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the regal dog and licked Aragorn on his muzzle.

Nothing happened.

The dog only snored…louder.

He licked him on the nose.

"That's nice Arwen…," Aragorn grumbled.

Legolas glanced back at Gimili in horror, little legs shaking.

All he got in reply was a doggy chuckle. _Expect not pity from a dwarf!_ Least not in situations like this one.

He tried again. Licking face. Licking paws. _Biting_ the tips of Aragorn's pointy ears in panic. Nothing worked. By the end, he was huffing, his little doggy chest rising and falling in both exhaustion and anger. He stomped his feet, clearly distressed.

"Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Gondor and Arnor, it is _irresponsible_ for you to lay in the desert sun, bathing in her light like an some ancient cat!" he said, heart thudding in his little ears. Legolas bared his teeth, his long, hairy brows falling in anger. A few strains of light blond fur fell into his eyes. "Why must you be such a deep sleeper?"

"Perhaps your tongue is too small, elf."

The dwarven dog prodded up to him, and unceremoniously pushed him away. Legolas stumbled, four legs crisscrossed, and fell flat on his side. Glaring up at the dwarven dog's, stout, muscular legs, he grumbled. Why did both his friends get a formidable body, while he was so small and useless? He growled up at the Valar for handing him this most uncommon and unfortunate fate.

"Watch and learn, yippie pup," said the dwarven dog. Legolas snarled, snapping his teeth shut.

Gimli slobbered Aragorn's muzzle, face, and mane with half-a-score of wet, doggy-kisses, grinning all the while. Half-way through, Aragorn yelped and barked in surprise. Grey eyes flew open, and the king of men in doggy form stood on all four legs, jumping backwards as Gimli's last wet doggy-kiss brushed the tip of his muzzle.

Aragorn's rear slammed into the poor tree. With a thunderous crack its trunk snapped. It fell into the muddy pool behind it and splashed the regal dog with brown muck and mire. His shaggy fur somehow grew shaggier, covered in grim, but he did not seem to notice this. Instead, Aragorn stared at Gimli like his tantalizing dream about his sweet wife had turned into his worst nightmare.

 _Funny Aragorn, you have no idea that a wicked happenstance has befallen us, do you?_ He thought, amused by the former man's obvious bewilderment.

"You're _definitely_ not Arwen."

Both dogs chuckled.

"Nay," said Gimli, causing Aragorn to take a step back, and unbeknownst to him, step onto the tree hanging over the murky pool. "She'd make a pretty hound, as well, I am sure!"

"Arwen…a hound?" Another step onto the tree trunk. " _As well?_ "

"Well, look down at yourself, laddie!"

He did. Aragorn stared at his paws, then back at Gimli, then back at his paws; gaze switching between paws and dwarf several times before he stuck his head under his chest and stared at his tail.

Time passed. The sun began to slide towards the horizon.

Aragorn blinked at Gimli owlishly. The regal dog took another step back onto the now arched trunk, perilously close to the water's edge. It was a rare sight, but Legolas swore he saw Aragorn's four legs trembling ever so slightly.

"I am a mutt," he said, still backing up, "and you, Gimli son of Gloin, are _also_ a mutt."

"Estel?"

If Legolas regretted raising his voice, it was only for a moment. Upon being called by his childhood name, Aragorn did three things. He shook _more_ , provoking both elf and dwarf to tilt their heads. Under his weight and his shaking, the branch quacked, and the king stared down at its smooth, white bark, finally realizing what he had _done_. By the time he sunk his claws in, it was too late. He tumbled, back first, and landed in the pool with a loud _sploosh_.

Legolas and Gimli meant each other's eyes, Legolas lifted a furry brow. They laughed, barks and squeaks escaping their throats. Then they stopped. Aragorn's head hadn't popped up. Running to the edge of the pool, the dogs stopped at its the banks, their paws sinking into the muddy sediment.

They surveyed the pool. No sign of Aragorn. He…he couldn't _lose_ him here. How could he explain this to Arwen or the twin Sons of Elrond? Or his friend's little two year child?

How could he tell Eldarion that his father had died as a dog?

"Aragorn?"

No answer.

" _Aragorn!?"_

Silence. Several minutes seemed to pass without a sign or hair of the regal dog above the pool's still murky waters.

Something splashed.

A giant ball of fur and mire Aragorn bounded from the pool, like a monster from the deep. The shaggy mutt splattered the dogs on the bank with brown mud. He landed on his hunches behind him them, fur dripping muddy water…which he shook off once he landed, splattering them again.

Aragorn started to snicker at their expense.

Legolas growled, displeased that his _former_ friend had ruined his fine, blond coat.

Then, he stopped. He was _not_ a dog! This was only temporary! But he shook the mud off as best he could, covering Gimli with even more muck.

For some reason, the dwarven dog just shot him a grin. Gimli, at least, didn't seem to care that his fur was plastered in grime and mud.

 _Why is he still enjoying this?!_

Perhaps it was something about short-furred dogs.

By this point, the shaggy, _ranger_ _mutt_ had begun to chuckle at their antics. Legolas fixed him with an ice-cold glare, but instead of the intended effect, _that_ brought thunderous laughter from both the dwarven dog and the ranger mutt.

Once their laughter had died down some, Aragorn cleared his throat, though the last droplets of good humor still laced into his voice as he spoke, "Legolas, I doubt your father's glower is fit for a pup like you."

"Why, Aragorn," he said, prancing over to the shaggy dog's side with as much dignity as his little legs could carry, "you're one to speak, considering your dog breath is not fit for a king."

The ranger mutt rolled his eyes. "And yours is fit for a prince?"

"Mine?" he sniffed his own breath, "smells like _roses_ , yours like p—"

"Am I interrupting?" asked a snarled, ancient voice with the tone and timbre of a tree. All three dogs looked upon the shadowed stranger who stood on the far side of the pond, jubilant barked banter dissolving into growls in their throats. As the stranger approached, it became apparent to them that he wore a long, light-blue tunic of the same make of the Haradrim under his dark cloak. The man leaned heavily upon his staff.

A staff of snarled wood, topped with a single, shimmering sapphire.

"You're one of the Ithryn Luin," Legolas said, recalling the ancient tales of the Blue Wizards from his faded memories, "lost in the East long ago."

"'Lost', they say?" The wizard chuckled, eyes glimmering as though with starlight. "I supposed some might think so, considering that some of the Wise might not like what I have found."

"Wizards, why must they always be so cryptic..." Aragorn pondered, sitting now on his back quarters, ears pointed at the wizard.

"You may call me a wizard, I suppose, or Luindil, as some have called me in the North." The wizard gave him a smile, then took a seat on the broken tree. "Being cryptic, however, is Mithrandir's mission. Or was, now that Sauron has finally fallen and the white wizard has returned to Aman, King of Gondor."

All three dogs gave him differencing expressions of surprise. Gimli's mouth hung slightly open. Aragorn sat straighter, noticeably more taunt than before. Legolas' ears fell back against his head in warning.

"Indeed," the wizard said, "I know you are not dogs."

"Because ye did this to us," said Gimli, "Indeed, I knew 'twas a wizard's magic when I woke up like _this_ , or, perhaps, it is a curious dream where Aragorn is now king of the dogs."

"He has always been king of their smell."

"Legolas," barked Aragorn, "your royal scent is none more pleasing than mine."

" _For the moment_ ," corrected Legolas, "I will lose this reek once we are turned back, but you shan't. Even in your finest attire and draped in Arwen's perfumes, you will bare a hint of mongrel reek until your final days."

"Foresight?" Aragorn lifted a doggy brow at him, eyes twinkling. "Did I bring Glorfindel by mistake again?"(1)

"It's only common sense," he answered.

The wizard chuckled at this display. "As it is," he said, raising a hand, "I did not _mean_ for you three to be so changed."

"This…," Aragorn began, now standing on his four legs and looking over his grimy coat of black and brown fur, "all of this, was _simply_ an accident?"

His words echoed the doubt Legolas felt in his own heart. He exchanged a glance with Gimli, noting the same doubt in the dwarven dog's eyes as well. Wizards were wizards after all, even ones with the best intentions.

 _While he has yet to harm us,_ he thought, troubled, _we do not yet know what his intentions are._

"I am aware you have dealt with others of my kind," said the wizard, "And I am like them in some ways. My friends, I fear, it was not completely by mistake that you find heirs of disarray."

The three dogs gave him doggy nods. Waiting to hear, hopefully, what the wizard had planned.

"News spreads quickly in the desert, my friends," began the wizard, resting his staff against his knees, "all news. Many of the chiefs think little of your peace accords."

Aragorn nodded with a sigh, looking weary. Yes, the talks hadn't gone well, while the chiefs of Harad often spoke Westron or had translators who could, the meetings often ended in shambles. Simply, nothing of late had gone to plan. Gondor had hoped to sign a treaty six months ago, instead, they were no closer to a peaceful coexistence with the Haradrim than before.

In fact, they were probably farther than they had been six months past.

"Indeed, your somber faces confirm it," the wizard said, "it is why I set out to meet you."

"Truly, is that all?" asked the shaggy rancher mutt.

"Yes, I mean to offer assistance to your cause." He smiled. "What? I am not Sauruman, that blasted fool." Twin flames burned in the wizard's dark eyes. "He thought to learn the secrets of the enemy and never believed he would become like him. Proud fool. I, friends, only wish to see that you are worthy of my aid."

All three dogs sighed in unison, even Gimli grumbled despite that he liked their new forms the most. Of course, a wizard could not help them _without_ demanding something.

He wouldn't be acting like a proper wizard if he did not have a request.

"What, then, do you have in mind?" asked Aragorn.

Leaning forward, the wizard's face broke out into an excited grin. "Fetch."

" _Fetch?_ " Aragorn asked.

"You _are_ mad," said Gimli.

"I am not some dog!" Legolas exclaimed.

Warm laughter broke out from the wizard's lips. "A test of courage," he said, "prove yourselves to me, and I will give you the aid and knowledge you need."

"And if we cannot or will not?"

"Luckily," said he, "I am rather fond of dogs. Two days, and those forms are permanent…"

"And we have already begun to see ourselves as dogs," Legolas noted, growling a little. The wizard nodded.

"We have no choice, then."

Aragorn sighed, standing up on all fours. "Then, pray tell, wizard, what do you want us to fetch?"

"Pallando."

000

That's a story for another time. Let's just say that a much younger Aragorn had a bit too much to drink one night in Imladris and mistook one blond elf for the other despite that both swear they don't look _anything_ alike!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Now back to the "present". :P

000

A knock interrupted Legolas' strange tale, causing Pippin to moan softly. Merry eyed his cousin, then the knock came again, louder than before.

"I apologize, my lords," said a woman's voice, "but please, you mustn't let this good food and drink go to waste."

Merry's stomach growled, this time so loud that the others could hear it. Heat rushed to his cheeks, Gimli chuckled. "And I think your cousin might die of hunger if ye do not."

As though to compliment it, the dwarf's stomach growled as well. He gave Legolas a pointed look.

"I am innocent," answered the elf.

"You _thought_ it," replied the dwarf, shooting the elf a dark glare.

 _How is it that two people still so much more than twice my age could remind me of his sons?_ Pippin mused. _Or do my sons remind me of them?_

He wasn't sure if that made him feel old or young. Only confused, probably.

"I did not know you possessed fair Galadriel's ability to see inside of hearts and minds," he said, "woe be it to all elves that a dwarf can do so!"

"Woe _be_ what…?"

"My lords! Please!"

Pippin sighed, getting up. He opened the door…and got jumped on by a mutt with black and brown shaggy fur. Pippin fell, dog on top of him, covering his face with slobber and dripping-wet doggy kisses.

"Stra…stra…Strider?" he asked. The others laughed. The servant, clearly distraught, rushed over to the fallen hobbit. Like a heroine out of some ancient tale, she grabbed the regal mutt and pulled him off of Pippin, giving the dog a slab of meat once her task was done.

"I'm so sorry my lord," she said, dipping her head once, twice, trice.

Before she could say more, Pippin sat up, he coughed, and finally sputtered, "Poor Strider."

The dog's head poked up. It really must have been him. He looked back at the others in horror, then back at the dog. Who had been on throne then? An imposter? How had Gondor been tricked by a stranger for so long?

"You're still a dog." He patted said dog's back with one heavy hand, then ran his fingers through its soft, shaggy fur. "I know you believe in self-sacrifice, but that also makes you an _idiot_."

Pointedly, heavy boot came to a stop behind him. Pippin looked over his shoulder, then stopped petting the shaggy rancher mutt. _It can't be…_ His mouth hung open. But there stood Strider, wearing a simple tunic and black

"This," Strider said, "is why I _did not_ want that pup, Legolas."

The elf in question gave him an innocent expression, his lips almost pouting. Of course, Legolas would say he did _not_ pout. "It was not I who thought _she_ would make a most kingly gift."

"But who told Eldarion and Arwen the tale?" he asked, then sighed, holding his hand out to Pippin. "I am sorry, my friend, Hurian did the same thing when she first met Gimli."

Pippin tilted his head, the words slowly sinking in. This dog was not Strider. There was no impostor on the throne. But most importantly, it was a _bitch_.

In relief, Pippin took a deep breath, and laughed at his own stupidity.

He really was a fool of a Took even in his old age.

"So…you're…" he poked Strider in the chest with his index finger, "definitely solid…and a man, as well, I think."

"I would hope so," said he. The servant began to set the food and drink on the table. Hurian jumped on Legolas' lap, cuddling up with the elf, tail wagging wildly as though she had gotten away with _something_.(1) Strider grabbed a chair from the back of the room, and sat with the others around the fireplace. "Please leave us Liniel."

The servant opened her mouth to speak, then bit her cheeks, muttering, "But, that mongrel…she's…"

"Hurian can stay. Legolas will keep her out of trouble," he said, giving the elf in question a meaningful look. The servant left, muttering something along the lines: 'like he did _last_ time' as she closed the door, softly.

"Forgive me for not joining you sooner, dear friends," he said, "that foolish ambassador would not stop chattering, it amazes me still that his face did not get as purple as his vestment."

"You have never had much patience for the 'small talk'-it's a part often required for diplomacy," Legolas said, stroking the dog's back. The elf glanced at Strider over his shoulder. "A king doesn't stick out his tongue."

The man rolled his eyes, and stuck out said tongue further still. What would the chroniclers and scribes say if they knew that one of the greatest kings of men could be so childish? What would they say if they knew the Thrain of the Shire had mistaken a dog for said king?

It was probably best that such people _didn't_ know about these things. Being 'great' often meant it was best if others did not realize one had less…desirable traits, just like anyone else. It was just a masquerade.

"Why then, oh skilled diplomate," Gimli snorted as Strider spoke, the king nodded, "did your skill as a wordsmith not help us when we spoke with the Haradhrim chiefs at the peace talks?"

The elf shrugged, then patted the dog between her large, pointy ears.

"We can't all be skilled negotiators," Merry said, "As we know, Legolas is shy around those he doesn't trust."

This made the elf stop petting the dog. "Elves are not shy," he said, frowning. "It isn't my place to speak at a negotiation table where the parties working towards peace are from the races of men."

Aragorn smiled, knowingly. "Is it so hard for you to admit we are right?"

The dog whined, staring at his hand with her large, brown eyes. He went back to petting the dog as though she were his liege.

"All hobbits are fat," Pippin said, though he still did not have a wide girth, despite his age. "All dwarves love stone more than all else."

"Just as all women want to care for house and kin," added Gimli, nodding.

"Except for Eowyn," Merry said, lifting a finger, "just as all men are brave and always want to fight and protect, and Faramir doesn't like knitting."

Pippin snickered. Faramir didn't like that _secret_ getting out, but well, it wasn't really a secret to his friends.

"Indeed, Merry," said Strider, "there is no shame in admitting that one doesn't fit into the preconceived notions of race, gender, or role."

"Says the man who still wonders if he'll ever be a good king."

"Mocks the elven lord whom questions the wisdom of his elders for choosing him to lead the elves of Ithilien."

The elf, however, just shook his head.

"Before our food has a chance to get colder still, let us partake of it," said Strider, pouring himself a mug of ale and taking some food from the tray that Liniel had left behind. The others did likewise, except Legolas, who was still preoccupied with the dog, now scratching her behind her ears and whispering things to her in some kind of elvish Pippin could barely hear. "How far did you get in the retelling of that peculiar tale?"

"Aye," Gimli paused, taking a long draught from his mug of ale before he continued, "we stopped right when Luindil told us we needed to find Pallando."

Strider 'hmmm-ed', his mouth full of food.

"You will not convince me, Aragorn," Legolas said, as though answering some unspoken question. Aragorn's brow wrinkled. "What reason would there be for it?"

The man shrugged. "Just ask him someday."

"I could _ask_ for him," the dwarf suggested,

"See that you _make_ him ask, do not let him go back on his promise, Gimli," said Aragorn, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Pippin did not understand what all this fuss was about. Whom and what question did Aragorn want Legolas to ask anyways? "For now, at least, let us continue with this story. Fetching Pallando was not as easy as we thought it would be, not even Luindil had suspected the fate which befell his old friend…"

000

(1) She's not allowed on the furniture.


	4. Chapter 4

Sand. Sand. And more Sand. If Aragorn had to feel one more grain under his paws—hands—after this, he would bite the wizard's jocular and make him regret the day he had chosen to return to Middle Earth. That, or spray him.

 _By Elbereth, I am thinking more and more like a dog,_ he thought, soundly displeased by this notion.

Legolas clung to the tuff of fur on top of his head, his claws digging into his skin as the three dogs trotted across the desert wilderness, alone. The blue wizard had left them to their own devices after he convinced each of them to sniff Pallando's frayed cloak, putting them on the trail of his misplaced colleague. As it turned out, the princely pup had the best nose. Typical elven dog, he was probably an immortal pouch, too. That, of course, had been nearly a day ago, and the sun was now beginning to disappear below the increasing rocky desert. They did not have much time left.

 _Have I seen those cactus before?_ Aragorn thought, staring at said the tall, prickly plants, each had a red flower on top with more needles sprouting from its blossoms. What was the point? What kind of creature would want to eat a plant's flower? _Have I seen that boulder, that dune?_

"Are you sure we on truly on his trail, Legolas?"

"Yes," Legolas answered, yanking on his fur a little harder than necessary to make him turn towards said boulders. "If you're wondering, rancher mutt," said the annoying pup. "All the boulders and cactus look alike because they _are_ alike. At least to us, why would a dog understand the difference between one kind of cacti and another?"

"Perhaps we should spray it," Gimli said, rolling his shoulders and bounding up to the boulder. He left his mark on the stone. Legolas groaned, hiding his face in Aragorn's fur. "That way, if we are indeed going in circles, we will recognize our scent."

"How repulsive, dwarf."

"Aye, lad," he agreed. "But we're _mutts_ , are we not?"

Legolas sniffed the air like a mouse. Arwen would have found him adorable, if she was here. It was good that she was not, however, he did not want to imagine what kind of dog his queen would have become had she been caught in the wizard's spell. Probably a beautiful thing with an elegant built and covered long, black fur, her eyes still holding starlight. Aragorn shook his head, he shouldn't dwell on such things. He was a man, not a dog.

Through the wilderness they transverse, words dying as the warm desert day turned to cool desert night. The moon rose first, then the first stars appeared over the cool, desert sands and, soon, frost covered the desert shrubs and grasses. Aragorn did not know how much time had passed or how far they had gone, but they never saw that boulder again, instead…at the break of day, they entered the desert foothills, each made of golden sandstone. The distant mountains signaling that they were surprisingly close to the lands where the Enemy had once dwelt.

The sight of those shadowy peaks still made his fur stand on end.

 _So the tales are true,_ he thought, though they still had no sign of the wizard other than his scent, Pallando had indeed allied himself with the enemy.

And they had probably fallen into a terrible trap set up by his friend.

 _Are we not quicker than this?_ he thought, disgusted with himself more than his companions. _I should have spotted it sooner…yet what could I have done differently?_

The three dogs crested a rocky foothill. In the ravine below, a river flowed, snaking through the sandstone moors, a few scrawny goats ate were here and there along its banks or on its crevices, Aragorn's stomach growled, a part of him whispered that he should give up the chase and hunt his dinner, after all, they had been tricked and were doomed to stay dogs, just as the wizard had doubtlessly hoped…but Legolas bit his pointy ear, hard, grabbing Aragorn's attention between his paws.

"They have horns," said he, despite that his stomach grumbled. Of course, the princely pup would deny that it ever made such noises, he was as arrogant as one of those tall, two-legged creatures with too little fur and pointy ears. "Pallando's trail leads down there."

After climbing up onto Aragorn's head, he pointed at the river with one of his front paws.  
Gimli glanced up at him. "It seems I have the duty of pointing out the obvious," Gimli said, "Luindil set us up, it's no doubt a trap, we'll end up dead if we'll only end up dead if we go through with this."

"We'll stay dogs for what remains of our lives if we do not," Legolas said, though Aragorn did not understand why he bemoaned their current predicament.

Being a dog wasn't so bad, they were strong, powerful creatures. Perhaps his friend just hated his lack of height. After all, they could eat whenever they wanted, sleep when they desireed, and spray where they needed to guard their terrortory. In their desert home, there was no one relying on them anymore. No more duties, no more treaties, no more people needing his attention day and night. As a dog, he didn't have the worries of a king.

Speaking of food…a hare skirted out from behind a short, desert shrub. Aragorn pounced, catching it in his jaws. He ripped into its fresh.

"Aragorn!"

"I'll let you have a leg, runt." He shouldn't, though, the pup had to learn to hunt for himself. Still, they were part of the same pack.

"Runt!" the little pup clinging to his shaggy fur yelped, "I am no runt. We aren't dogs, or have you already forgotten? If we do not make it back, Gondor will have a boy for a king. It will, again, be at war with the Southerners, and Faramir forced into the role of Steward until your son comes of age."

"So be it, why should we dogs care about the fate of men?"

"We're not dogs, Aragorn…" he argued.

"That's silly, lad," Gimli barked, the smaller dog had also caught a small animal between his crawls. It was a baby hare, perhaps the youngling of the creature Aragorn had caught. "We have four legs, we have tails, and are covered in fur. What else would we be, cats?"

"What of Arwen?" Legolas continued, ignoring the former dwarf. Aragorn blinked. Wasn't she just a pretty—no, she was a queen of men. His fair wife, Arwen, was waiting, back at Minas Tirith with their son and newborn daughter. She was no dog, how could he have been so mistaken? Why had he allowed his current form to dictate his actions? He barked out a disgruntled sigh. This spell…it was taking over his thoughts, his soul. As though to secure his sanity, he thrust his crawls into the sandy soil. "Do not let the dog's instincts control your actions, Estel."

"Let us haste, then," he said, "it may be a trap, but there are worse things."

Gimli nodded. "It's foolishness."

"Wouldn't it be better to die with some memory of whom we are than none at all?" Aragorn asked.  
"As the elven mutt insists, we are not dogs."

With that, the three dogs searched for a path of some kind to enter the ravine. Finally coming to a rocky trail, they made their way down to the roaring river, and headed east along its banks after they had drank from its muddy, brown waters. Before long, the desert sun beat upon their heads, and each one feared that it would set before they found a sign of the trap Luindil had set or, at best, Pallando's whereabouts other than whatever the former elf smelled on the wind.

"I smell fire, and…something else, fruit perhaps…?" Gimli said, at long last. "Perhaps we have come to the camp of his followers?"

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, but no sign of fire, no voices of men…," the three dogs came to a bend in the valley, and turned, "it…"

His words died in his throat.

They had come to a small, blue lake in the midst of a green valley. It was a true oasis where fruit trees grew and flowers blossomed on branch, vine, and stem. For a moment, he thought it was wild, perhaps a good place to settle if they were stuck in these forms, but then, Aragorn saw a small, stone shack on the far shore. On one side, someone had tied a half-sunk boat to an old, rotting dock, a forgotten fishing pole hung over the lake's still waters. There was no light seeping through the cabin's windows, no sign of life other than the crows flying into the attic.

None of these things had been used in a very long time, and the oasis itself seemed long forgot, though Aragorn found that quite odd. Why would the Haradrim let such a place remain untouched, unsettled? There were no signs of that the desert people had come to this valley, either, even after it had been abandoned. All of this filled Aragorn's chest with dread, the sun was sitting, the second day was quickly approaching its end, and all they had found was this old house in a forgotten, though once cultivated, wood.

 _A wood,_ he thought, glancing around the forgotten oasis, _which smells of fire flesh but bares no sign of flame.  
_  
Worry and fear gnawed at his tail. His tail fell limp, brushing the skull of a dead man. Legolas trembled, clearly terrified. Soon, Aragorn started to notice other things: whitened bones in the underbrush, charred ash near the house, discarded spearheads, knives, and scimitars...

This valley wasn't beautiful, it was deadly, but whatever had caused this massacre, had not noticed them.

"That," Gimli said, pointing his muzzle at the empty house, "is where we will find what has become of our wizard."


End file.
